


And in Tonight's Episode of "Bad Decisions"...

by Raechyy



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, NSFW Art, Rough Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raechyy/pseuds/Raechyy
Summary: Trigger warnings: Lots of swearing, violence, blood, blade use, BDSM/rough sex, dubious consent, language that could be deemed offensive. On that note, I would never EVER use ableist words IRL but it fits here due to the nature of the characters. You have been warned.In today's episode of "Bad Decisions", we see what happens when you get too drunk to keep your wits about you and get into it one-on-one with a physically and sexually frustrated Cable, who you happen to be trying to kill.Good old Cable/Reader smut.Cue the music.





	And in Tonight's Episode of "Bad Decisions"...

"Jesus, slow it down, Y/N. I have enough dribbling retards in here as it is without having to throw your drunk ass into the alleyway too." Weasel's voice swims through the light haze of your whiskey stupor, but you wave him away indignantly.

"I'm fine, for fuck's sake. I've only had a couple," you mutter, gesturing for a top up. Weasel dubiously fills your glass up again, cocking an eyebrow as you slam it back.

"What's gotten you in such a state? Usually you're the life and soul of this soulless shit tip," he asks, as you massage your temples.

"Honestly, I'm just having a shitty day. I'm supposed to have collected on some time-travelling old ex mercenary guy who looks twice my age and I cannot for the life of me get a handle on where the fuck he is, or even who the fuck he is, for that matter. The most annoying thing is, I'm sure I've fucking seen him before and I can't put my finger on where. I've never ever had an issue collecting before now and my boss is ragging on my ass like a starving coyote with a deer. Gave me some shit about losing my touch. Miserable old cunt forgets he never gets his hands dirty," you huff, showing Weasel a card with a grainy picture of an older guy with admittedly great biceps. The picture quality is poor so you only get a glimpse of silver hair. But you cock an eyebrow as Weasel's face changes upon looking at the photo, and you sit up, giving him a hard stare.

"Weasel, do you know this guy?" you ask, your eyes daring him to lie. He backs away slowly, his adam's apple gulping hard. Your eyes narrow as you observe the sweat springing up on his forehead and you stand up slowly.

"Look, I know who he is, Y/N, yeah. But he's a fuckin' good friend of Wade's and also a certified badass. He will snap you in half if you even breathe too hard in his direction. Let this one go, Y/N, or you won't be collecting anyone ever again," Weasel chokes out, and you click where you've seen him. He was one of the guys that hung out in that bullshit X-Club, or whatever the fuck they called themselves, swinging round the city like low-budget X-Men and causing millions of pounds in property damage. You stuff the card into your pocket, ignoring Weasel's weak protesting, grab the bottle of whiskey left on the bar and leave wordlessly, blinking to try and clear away the fog clouding your vision as you make your way to your motorbike. They'd be at Xavier's School upstate. Two in the afternoon and you're drink driving. The perfect time to do so, really. As long as you don't crash, who would expect it?

As you leave, Weasley hurriedly grabs his cellphone

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wade?"

"Hey fuckstick, what's up?"

"Are you at home?"

"For once, yeah, and I'm fucking bored. Domino and Cable are busy training, my metal daddy is being his usual stoic self and I have sweet fuck all to d-"

Weasel cuts him off. "Fucking Y/N has had a collection and she's on her way."

"Oooh, really? Does she need our help to round up some meathead and make her boss man proud?" Wade says, his sing-song voice rising with excitement. He knows Y/N from his pre-toasted days and they would work together now and again, splitting the "finder's fee" for extra cash.

"Uh, not exactly. She's collecting on Cable."

"Well fuck my face and call me Shirley, should I tell him?"

Weasel's groan is audible. Wade could almost hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, duh. You've seen her work, she's fucking militant. Although Cable does have the advantage that she's two thirds of the way through a bottle of paint-stripper whiskey right now, so if she even makes it without a DUI or a fatal motorbike crash, her reflexes won't be what they usually are."

Wade grins. "Okay sweetie, thanks for letting me know."

The line goes dead.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Wade lazily skips through X tower, swinging into the training room where Cable and Domino are practicing hand-to-hand combat.

"Yoo-hoo, I have a delivery of juicy news for my favourite racist," he trills. Cable wipes down his sweating brow, rolling his eyes.

"What do you want, fuckface?" he growls.

"Well, I just heard from a reliable source that one of my very capable old work buddies is coming here right now to go weigh your aluminium nutsack in for cash," he says. "Your only saving grace is that she's considerably full of liquor so just run around her a few times until she's out cold, then when she sobers up tomorrow we can find out exactly who wants your balls for breakfast. I'm actually rather fond of her, so I'd appreciate you not putting a magnum bullet between her eyes, but if you break a few bones she's a pretty quick healer. From what I remember, anyway."

Cable grabs his weapons and sweeps out of the room, muttering angrily. Wade whistles at Domino, who tilts her head at him questioningly.

"Well, I was ready to attempt seppuku but the evening just got way more interesting."

\------------------------------------------------------

You somehow make it to the towering behemoth of a school without causing a major pile up, running out of talent only once on a mercifully secluded country road and rolling off your bike like a dead fish, giving your bike a gnarly road rash in the process. Your whiskey bottle has gone AWOL somewhere along the way and you're not a write off but you were definitely more sober when you woke up that morning. As you approach the gates, you notice they're open and grab a your rather elegant handgun from the leg holster that somehow survived your barrel roll. Dismounting from your bike that you somehow manage to park upright, you move towards the gates and into the sprawling grounds.

The man you're looking for is stood a hundred yards or so in front of you. You recognise the silver hair and the defined arm. The other arm is shrouded in a cape that somehow looks elegant instead of theatrically villainous. His stature is tall and broad, in a fitted grey muscle shirt, combat green trousers and black military boots. You can't see his face owing to the whiskey fog but you were certainly appreciative of the form.

"I hear you're here to kill me, little girl," he quips, holding his stance. You begin to stalk slowly towards him, raising your gun and holding it with both hands, the barrel trained surprisingly steadily at his chest. You try not to show that you're about four drinks past tipsy, tilting your head towards him, your aim unfaltering. He remains still.

"Little girl? Wow. They're big fucking words coming from the man who has a gun pointed at his heart," you reply, moving slowly towards him, your military past evident as you take careful, deliberate steps. As you narrow the gap between your bodies, his face comes into focus. You study him carefully. He is calm, unfazed, almost unnervingly so. His face is still handsome with scars. You see something glinting at the base of his neck. And one of his eyes glows, washing his face with a gentle light.

"Well then, sweetheart, shoot me. Just make sure I'm really dead before you go pick up your paycheck," he croons. His voice is a purr. It's almost distracting how much you want to fuck him. Shame you have to kill him, really. In another life you'd ride that like Seabiscuit.

"As you wish," you say, opening fire.

He whips his cape back and your bullet hits a forcefield. You're momentarily shocked to see his arm is encased in what looks like metal, but recovering quickly, you empty the remainder of your clip into his face. He almost looks bored as the bullets ping away every time. As the ringing gunfire stops, you realise that you are a) out of bullets, and b) likely outclassed by the fact this dude has a fucking bionic arm and some insane future technology that is apparently impervious to a 50 caliber magnum.

"Oh no, fuck clean off. You are not deus ex machina-ing your way out of this one, fucker," you yell. His face picks up a lazy smirk as he now begins striding towards you confidently. You take a knife from your ankle and wince as you catch gravel rash from your untimely exit onto the road. So apparently you could add "wore a string vest and military short shorts to ride a motorcycle" to your list of fuck-ups today, along with "got drunk before a collection", "emptied a full round of clips into a guy with a cybernetic arm", and "got distracted by how much you want to fuck bionic man, even though you're supposed to be putting a hole in his chest."

He gets about twenty feet from you before you sprint towards him, blade glittering in your favoured hand as you slash towards him. He telegraphs you easily but you manage to land a flying kick on his chest, sending him reeling backwards. He aims a few punches at you and you jump back. You're both aiming punches at each other when he aims squarely at your throat, and you manage to fall back, using one hand on the ground for balance as you swing your leg around to connect hard with his jaw, knocking him to the ground. You jump on him, straddling him, bringing down the knife hard towards his face.

And it stops sharply before making the mark. Despite his grin being bloody from your boot causing a laceration inside his mouth, it's pasted on his face as he grabs the blade with his metal arm, snapping it. As you turn to look at the now useless handle in your hand, his other fist connects hard with your side, winding you and throwing you sideways. You lie on the ground and this time he swings atop you, resting between your legs as the whiskey makes you too dizzy and nauseous to get up in time.

"Hey sweetheart, if you had wanted to be on top of me, all you had to do was ask," he says gruffly, smirking as you breathe hard through the nausea. You aim a punch for him but his hand grabs your fist, pinning you down with ease, the cool metal of his other hand around your throat, slowly restricting your air flow.

"I figure you're the choking type," he murmurs. His eyes gaze hard into yours as you writhe beneath him, your free hand pawing uselessly at the hand causing your respiratory distress.

"Please... stop," you manage to choke out hoarsely. He lets go of your throat and you cough and splutter, taking deep breaths. He gets off you and picks you up by a handful of hair, ignoring your yelps as he pulls you up to standing with your back to his chest.

"I think we should go have a little chat," he breathes roughly into your ear, pushing you forward, his grip on your hair unrelenting as he forces you towards the house. As you yell, twist and kick uselessly, you pass Wade in the hallway, one foot up leaning against the wall, his mask halfway up as he chews bubblegum.

"Hey, Y/N. I see you've met my good friend Cable. Bad day at work sugarplum?" he asks. His use of the pet name is mocking, but in good humour, knowing you aren't here for him.

"You-AH FUCK!- know how it is, Wade. You win, some-AH!- you lose some!" you manage to get a sentence out between pained yelps as you're pushed down a corridor, your scalp screaming with the pain of having your hair almost ripped out. Cable opens a door and shoves you inside as you hear Wade's voice again. 

"Well you two lovers have fun now and try not to cause any lasting damage, huh!"

You fall face first onto a bed as you hear the door click behind you, before you're aggressively flipped onto your back. Cable is atop you again, grabbing your upper arms and pinning you roughly to the bed, causing you to wince as he digs into some gravel rash.

"Who the fuck sent you to kill me, and why?" he growls, wasting no time in his interrogation. You laugh in his face by way of reply, noticing him glancing down at your chest breathing heavily. He growls and grips your arms painfully tightly, causing you to grimace, but you remain silent.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"It's Y/N, not that it makes a difference to you," you reply.

"I'll ask you again then, Y/N. Who sent you to kill me and why?" 

You answer him by spitting in his face. He doesn't even blink.

"Look, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way sweetheart. The hard way is more fun for me but it won't be for you, so I'd choose carefully," he purrs as he takes in the pleasing curve of your form, noticing the swell of your breasts and your pouted lips, and the pleasing bruising blooming over your throat.

"How about get fucked, tin man," you rasp from between pained hisses as he squeezes your arms hard enough to almost break them. Cable's eyes narrow as his face cocks into a sinister grin.

"Funny that, that's what I was planning to do," he says as he pulls you up and throws you hard into a table. You grunt as the wind is knocked out of you and he pins you face down over the table with his metal arm. The feeling of being thrown around is making you sick and it takes all of your strength to not throw up. You hear him fumbling around and then feel the cold sting of a metal blade near the hemline of your barely there shorts. Your struggling slows and he laughs darkly.

"Yeah, I figured that would slow you down. I suggest you stay still otherwise this is liable to be a messy affair," he says, before you feel the hunting blade dip between your flesh and fabric, cleaving your shorts in half with ease. You gasp as the ribboned fabric of your shorts falls away, leaving you in only a thong. Cable hums his approval as his hand grazes over your thighs and the curve of your ass.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you ask, your voice more timid than you wanted it to sound. You feel awfully exposed in just a small black thong and combat boots with a small crop top. That, too, gets sliced away, and your bra is unclasped, leaving you pinned and almost completely in the nude.

"I told you, this would be more fun for me than you," he says. "Since you're unwilling to have a civilised discussion, I thought I'd help you learn some manners." You hear a metal clicking then a smooth, hissing noise, that you don't immediately recognise.

Thwack.

You place the sounds of a thick leather belt being taken off a nanosecond before it connects hard with your ass, eliciting a howl from you as you jump, shocked with the sudden pain.

Thwack. Swoosh. Thwack. Swoosh. Thwack. Swoosh. Thwack. Swoosh. Thwack.

Several more hits come in quick succession, striking the first contact area with pinpoint accuracy, and you're shrieking now with the pain, struggling to get up, but Cable is unphased, watching the skin burst into life, mottled, angry, burning, red, bruising almost instantaneous. He continues in this fashion for what feels like the longest time and your ass is on fire. Being shot in the shoulder was a walk in the park compared to this onslaught. And yet, every time your ass is assaulted and your cheeks shudder under the force of the belt hitting your flesh, you get a twitch in your groin.

"I can do this all night sweetheart, and trust me, I'll get much more enjoyment out of it than you. But if you are polite and tell me what I need to know, you might begin to enjoy yourself too," he murmurs over your racking sobs. Whoever said alcohol was a great painkiller was a liar and a sadist. Your body is shaking with the shock and you hiss as his hand dances over your inflamed skin.

"Fuck, Cable, you know I can't tell you that. I just don't fucking know. My boss posts the work, I just fucking take it," you sniff. Cable is still for a moment and you notice through the haze his arousal is pressed against your side. The thought of him being inside you now is a welcome distraction to the searing pain in your buttocks, and your arousal does not go unnoticed by Cable's hand stroking across your thighs and ass cheeks.

"I can always tell the fucktoys that like it rough," he growls, as he kicks your legs apart and palms your hot slit. His metal arm releases its' grip on your back and you go to stand up but a light smack on your ass nixes that as you cry out and lie across the table again. You jump as the cool metal of his fingers begins slowly circling your clit, eliciting gasps and moans as he chuckles.

"Well, since I do believe you're telling the truth, I can now reward you for your good behaviour," he murmurs, slipping a finger inside you to work your core almost achingly slowly. Your spine arches as you grind against his fingers, the cold metal a stark contrast to the fire of your battered ass cheeks. Your breathing is quick and shallow with the alcohol and your arousal as his finger massages your g-spot. As you near orgasm, his fingers pull out from you and you cry out with frustration. He laughs again.

"Don't worry, Y/N. I just want to sample the goods," he says as he kneels between your spread legs. You're too booze weary now to move so you can do little but try to hold your legs up as you feel his hot breath on your slit before his tongue begins lashing your throbbing clit. You're panting and moaning his name as he expertly works your aching cunt, his hands pulling your raw asscheeks apart so he can get his tongue deeper inside you.

"Oh fuck, Cable, I'm so close," you pant, feeling him hum his approval as his hands grip your cheeks and his tongue laps at you, unrelenting. You're unable to prevent yourself from falling into the depths of orgasm, the winding tension snapping as his tongue circling your clit washes you over the edge. Your whole body is humming as he eagerly laps up your juices, leaving you a quivering mess who can do little but let out whimpering moans with pleasure and pain.

He stands between your legs and licks his lips, deftly working his achingly hard cock free of his trousers. "I hope you feel as good as you taste," he growls as you feel the bulbous head of his cock at your entrance.

"Fuck me hard, Cable." The words escape your mouth in a breathless moan before you can even compute what you said.

"As you wish, sweetheart." He mimics your words from earlier.

He is slamming into your cunt before you register what is happening, but you're wet and ready for his girth as it slides inside you, hammering relentlessly into your core. The fiery sting of your sore ass being pounded mixed with the delicious pain of his cock driving deep into you is divine, his growls and grunts as he slams into your hole over and over is an intoxicating sound. You're drunk on whiskey and the heady pleasure of an aggressive fuck, panting and moaning his name like a whore before he finally pulls out, ribbons of cum streaming over your ass cheeks as he shoots his load across your ass and thighs.

As you hear his breathing begin to normalise, he pulls your battered body up and lies you face down on the bed, lying beside you. You finally get to look at his face properly, studying every line and scar as he glows with the post-coital bliss, his stare back at hazy but lustful.

"You know when I am sober we're going to try this again, and next time I'm going to kick your ass, right?" you mumble drunkenly.

"I don't doubt you'll try it, sweetheart. I'm just happy there's going to be a next time if it means I get to taste you all over again," he smirks.

Your eyes begin to drift closed before you mumble out a thought.

"How the fuck am I going to get home with no pants?"

His genuine smile and gentle laugh is the last thing you see before you finally succumb to the blackness.


End file.
